Tales of the Normandy
by Firewolf99
Summary: These are tales of the starship Normandy. Its continuing mission, to place its crew members in embarrassing and possibly predictable situations. To boldly go where many fanfic writers have probably gone before.


Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and fanfic authors. Yeah.

This little fic is a collection of one shots set on the Normandy.. There are very few parings in this fic, mainly because I don't like over pairing in genres without a conclusion yet. It makes it difficult to justify them when the sequels create a different canon airing.

That said, there is some attempt at some fluff in this. As an 18 year old male, any recommended improvements would be appreciated!

I may add chapters to this as if I think up a good number of new stories. We'll see what Arrival brings.

Obviously, I only own my Shepard (Black messy hair, moustache and chin beard combo) and the story, and Bioware own... everything else, really. *sulks*

And so we go.

* * *

**Tales of the Normandy**

In the cold darkness of space, nobody can hear you scream.

That was probably a good thing for Kasumi, who was blushing furiously within her space suit as she clung to the ladder leading out of the airlock. She could have caused a major disturbance among the space bats if they had heard her cry. Maybe some kind of uprising.

The suits communication link, however, could still pick up her shriek of fear.

"What's going on!" shouted Joker in her ears. She could see the bearded pilots face in her head, the wide eyes and frantic scrabbling at the keypad to get some kind of view of the ships exterior.

Kasumi gasped out and muttered a distinctly unladylike curse. Her heart was pounding ferociously up her throat, and she mentally tried to slow her breathing to use less oxygen. "I slipped."

"Fuck! You ok?"

"Fine now. Thanks. Remind me never to do this again." Kasumi replied as she regained her composure and returned to pulling herself along the Normandy's exterior.

"Hopefully you never will." Kasumi could hear Joker's relief over the mike, and smiled to herself in her suit. The pilot's concern was sweet, given his own paralysis and inabilities. "Thanks for doing this for me, Kasumi. That camera was driving me nuts!"

"Happy to help. I was getting bored, sitting in my room all day." Kasumi reached for the next handhold, and pulled herself up to the camera bank.

"Yeah. You guys always seem to just stay in your room the whole time. Thought I might get one of you off your asses, so I chose the one with the best ass!"

Kasumi paused at this. "Excuse me!"

There was a pause over the mike. Then Joker's voice came out, slightly panicked. "That came out loud?"

"Yep." Kasumi replied, looking at one of the camera's with a ratty look. She knew that through her helmet her face could not be seen, but hopefully the body language would suffice. "Do you objectify all women like that?"

There was a groan from the other end. "Shit, Shit, Shit. Look, I didn't mean it like that."

Kasumi shook her head. Her face was red again, but this was less embarrassment and more anger. She reached for the wipe for the camera lens as she kept talking. "Is there a list? Who's at the top of it? Whose bottom would you rate as the best, hmm?"

A spluttering sound echoed in her ears and she winced at the harsh noise. Finally, order returned and Joker answered. "I am NOT getting into that minefield. Shepard would have me for dinner if I even thought about it."

"So Tali, then?" Kasumi started to wipe at the fingerprint mark, slowly circling the material round the lens.

"Just finish the job and get back to the ship."

Kasumi laughed then, a melodious cascade that lasted a few seconds before falling to a mild chuckle, her previous irritation forgotten. She put the wipe back into the case on her belt, and returned to the ladder back to the maintenance hatch "This has been the most fun I've had in a while."

"Well, like I said, you need to get out your rooms more. All of you, you're like hermits all day. Even Kelly spends most of her time on reports now."

Kasumi giggled. "You just want to stare at her bum more."

A sigh. "I am never going to hear the end of this…"

* * *

Miranda let out a deep moan of contentment. "Mmhmm… oh, that feels good…"

Jacob smirked. "Glad you like it."

"I love it. Oh god, Jacob, your HANDS!" Miranda burst out into a gasp as Jacob's hands ran over another sensitive part of her back.

Jacob let out a chuckle, a deep, throaty rumble as he leaned over her facedown body and planted a kiss to the back of Miranda's neck. She smiled as he began to move lower, tracing breathy kisses along her spine. "Jacob, we can't. I have a meeting with the Commander in a few minutes…"

"Shepard can get fucked." Jacob murmured, but he relented and stood up from his previous position, straddling Mirada's back.

Rolling over, Miranda gazed at Jacob. The taught, naked musculature of his chest rippling as he slowly picked up the massage oil and moved towards the cabinet beside Miranda's bed- _his Bed!_- before returning to the floor to pick up his shirt. Like a Spartan warrior, she thought, or perhaps a Zulu chief in his prime. She decided quickly that the commander could wait.

Jacob had very little time to prepare before the biotic flare pulled him back into the bed. Still shirtless, he was quickly entangled by Miranda, who giggled as she held him close.

"And what happened to needing to meet Commander Shepard?" Jacob asked one eyebrow up as he clutched Miranda in tighter.

"I believe he can get fucked." Miranda replied, before pulling him in for a kiss.

The door opened.

"Hey Miranda-WOAH!"

Miranda and Jacob spun towards the door, Miranda's hand automatically reaching down beside the bed. Jacob had only time to blink once before Miranda had managed to pull the sheet over her body, face the door and point a custom issue Phalanx pistol at the unwitting intruder.

Shepard held up his hands as he retreated from the room. "Errm…"

An awkward silence. Jacob wet his lips slightly, before lifting up his arm to pull Miranda's down. "Maybe you should knock before walking in from now on, Commander."

Shepard shifted in discomfort. His normally composed face was bright red, and his eyes were focused on a point next to the door frame, resolutely staring at a section of scuffed metal. "The door was open. I… well, obviously I wasn't expecting…" He blinked twice, before turning to leave. "We'll talk later, Miranda. I'll… leave you two to it."

The door slid shut. Another silence.

"Well," Jacob said, now smiling, "That'd be one way to tender your resignation."

"Hmm?" Miranda said, looking at him quizzically, before glancing back at her hand, still clutching the pistol. "Oh!"

Jacob laughed and pulled her towards him. "My warrior woman." He whispered in her ear, before sealing her in another mind shattering kiss.

* * *

Grunt strode out of the elevator and towards the mess hall. He paused momentarily outside Miranda's office, puzzled by the locked sign on the usually open door. But then, many changes had occurred upon the ship recently. One of these was what brought him upstairs today.

Turning, he walked into the mess. Goldstein and Hawthorne were sitting at one of the tables, talking animatedly about some form of sport known as "football." Okeer's imprints showed him an image of a bald human male kicking a spherical object at a net, but he dismissed the thought and instead walked towards Shepard, who was sitting on his own with mug of some liquid

"Battlemaster."

Shepard looked up. "Grunt! Don't usually see you up here apart from at meal times."

Grunt squinted slightly. "Red skin. Is the liquid safe?"

Shepard blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Okeer's imprints are limited on humans. They indicate that human's skin is not usually red, but not the reasons why. Has the drink done this to you?"

Shepard relaxed and chuckled. "Ah, no. This is tea. It's got caffeine in it. Keeps me awake. And the skin," Shepard scratched his neck awkwardly, picking his words carefully. "Human reaction to… embarrassing situations."

Grunt decided that this line of questioning had gone far enough. "Shepard, I need your help."

Shepard put down his mug and clasped his hands together on the table, his expression serious. "What's wrong? No more... combative feelings?"

Grunt shook his head. "The feelings have always been the same, Battlemaster. I just have focus now. An end to channel them towards."

"Then I'm afraid you're going to have to tell me," Shepard leaned back, his hands behind his head. "Do you want to sit down?"

Grunt shook his head. He paused for a second, preparing his argument. This was not an enemy he could attack. One he could drive into the ground. One he can destroy utterly with brute force. This would require Grunt's greatest fear. His worst enemy. This would require... diplomacy.

"I need you to move some items out of my room."

Shepard's eyebrows rose at this. "I thought you didn't mind us using your room as a store room?"

"At first, no." Grunt's eyes twitched. "And I still do not mind you storing technical equipment in my room. However..."

Grunt stopped talking. Shepard waited for a few, long seconds, before replying, "Whatever I can do to help you Grunt. Just tell me what you want me to move and I'll get some guys together to help move it."

Grunt breathed out, which sounded like a dragon gargling with nails. This was where things got... awkward.

"I need you to move the boxes of liquorice."

Silence. Hawthorne and Goldstein had stopped chatting. Grunt turned around to see, in the corner of his eye, the crewmembers looking at him with perplexed looks. By the time he had made it all the way round, however, they were getting up quickly and walking away equally as fast. Grunt turned back to Shepard, whose expression was twisted into a mask of confusion.

"Grunt, there are many things I don't know about you, but liquorice?"

"It was not in Okeer's imprints, so I did not know of its properties before."

"Properties?"

Grunt gritted his teeth. He did not really want to talk about this. He settled for evasion. Hopefully, Shepard would not press him.

"The scent... affects me. When can you come down and move them?"

Shepard took the hint. "I'll come down now, if you want. I'll just grab Jack and..."

"NO!" Grunt bellowed, his eyes wide, prompting Gardiner (who had just returned from a loo break) to dive behind his kitchen worktop and Shepard to step back a few paces in alarm.

"Grunt?

Grunt seethed quietly, desperately trying to regain control of his irrational reaction to Shepard's suggestion. He finally managed to regain control of speech, and he growled.

"No women. It's not... safe."

"Oh." Shepard replied, the panic slipping into bewilderment. Then his eyes widened, and a little smirk began to appear. "Ohhhhh…"

Grunt's mouth twisted into a snarl, and Shepard took another step back, mirth replaced by a conciliatory expression. "Alright, Grunt. It's not funny. Got it. I'll get Garrus and Zaeed to help me, maybe get Rolston as well, he needs something to do."

Grunt nodded at Shepard, his wounded pride healing over. "Thank you, Shepard. I will be in the armoury when you're done." He turned and walked away, leaving a grinning Shepard in his wake.

As Grunt reached the elevator door, he could have sworn he heard laughter from the crew quarters. He grunted quietly, pondering an entrance, before deciding against murdering half of his Battlemaster's ship crew. He stepped into the elevator, standing next to Zaeed who had just come down from the CIC.

"Bottom floor. Now."

* * *

Zaeed groaned thickly as he stumbled into his room. He staggered towards the surveillance cameras and fell down into the seat in front of them, resting his head on the table.

It had been a good workout. He would have to thank the Lieutenant for the loan of his weights. He'd always thought about getting some, but the nature of his existence meant he never had a place to keep them.

He wasn't surprised that the biotic bastard hadn't shown up. If he had a sweet piece of arse waiting for him, he would take every opportunity to skive off and… hell, what was it the kids called it now? "Get laid?"

Zaeed snorted, and stood up from the desk. The surveillance cameras had all been removed from the crew's rooms, and he no longer cared much for spying. No one had many secrets any more, and watching other people shag was sick. The kind of thing only the Illusive man would find entertaining. Instead, Zaeed walked over to Jessie, and picked her up.

Zaeed made it a regular activity to polish Jessie. A woman always needed to look her best after all. And if he were ever to need to use her again, he wouldn't want to be trying to use a rusty gun. It was therapeutic to run the cloth over the metal components, watching the metal gleam again, as if it was brand new.

But today, there was something wrong. Today she felt slightly heavier at the front. Zaeed looked over her with worry. Had someone dented her? Twisted her?

He found the difference. A small box had been attached to the barrel, about halfway along. It seemed to slot into the firing chamber somehow. Zaeed scowled. If someone had fucked with Jessie, he was gonna…

He looked down at the table. There was a note. Zaeed picked it up, and squinted to read the messy writing.

_I fixed your rifle._

_We'll fix Vido next._

_Shepard._

Zaeed looked at Jessie in disbelief. How could Shepard have fixed Jessie? And why? Sure, he worked for the bastard, but they weren't that close, were they?

But then Shepard had a history of doing crazy things for his crew. Zaeed had watched as Shepard threw himself off that platform for Kasumi, deep within the collector base, after that battle with the hellish human Reaper. And he wasn't even screwing her. He was with the Quarian who worked at the engines, and still he risked his life for the (usually more sure footed) thief.

Zaeed had also been there when Shepard had fought the Thresher Maw for Grunt's loyalty rite. A god dammed Thresher Maw, for Christ's sake! And he didn't even need to! The group only needed to survive 5 minutes on foot against the thing, but Shepard took it down just to prove Grunt's prowess. Just to show Gatatog Uvenk that Grunt was pure, unadulterated Krogan.

Zaeed shook his head. Shepard was one crazy fucker. But, as Zaeed cradled Jessie, he realised that they were all crazy fuckers too.

And now, they were big, god dammed crazy heroic fuckers. And he had Jessie to show for it, and a promise to find Vido and roast the shitter's remains all over the galaxy.

Slowly, Zaeed turned to the door, and walked out of his room. He had a firing range to find, a rifle to test, and a friendship to renew.

* * *

"Bosh'tet!"

Jack, for the fifth time in the last hour, resisted the temptation to rip the ventilation matrix out of Tali's suit. "Seriously, what the fuck now?"

"I've dropped the spanner."

Jack groaned as she began sweeping through the ducts with her biotics, searching for the dropped utensil. "That's the 3rd time. You doing this on purpose?"

"It's not my fault these tools are designed for people with five fingers. Stupid human tools with no finger holes…" Tali's muttering was distorted even more through the vent, and Jack rolled her eyes as she eventually found the spanner and, carefully, carried it through the pipes back to Tali's hand.

"Yeah, Yeah. Go pout about it to the commander. The fucker would roll over and bark like a dog for you."

"Funny." Tali said, and Jack got the idea that the thought had entertained her, "But Shepard doesn't handle the equipment."

"Who the fuck does then?" does Jack.

"Miranda does. She's the XO." Tali replied, returning to the loosened screw. "And Shepard can't be bothered to handle all that stuff. He's usually too busy…"

"Too busy screwing you in his room all the fucking time." Jack sniggered, "I get it."

The spanner dropped again, but this time, onto Jack's shoulder. Jack looked up the pipe at the Quarian, who followed the spanner down, landing next to Jack with a clang.

"Bitch. You did that on purpose!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tali replied, mock sweetly. Jack just scowled, turned back towards her bed and sat down.

There was a pause. Jack looked back up to see the Quarian looking at her oddly. Her head was tipped to one side, and a hand rested on her hip. Jack was tempted to ask what the hell she wanted, but she couldn't really be arsed. It would only prolong the talking.

The Quarian didn't quit. Instead, she walked over to the other side of the room and leaned against a pillar, still looking at Jack. Frustrated, Jack decided to bite.

"What?" She snarled.

Tali breathed out heavily, the outrush of air sounding comical through her mask. "Miranda."

"Yeah, what about the cheerleader?" Jack replied sourly, unable to see where this is going.

"That's just the thing. Even though she defied the Illusive Man, she's still the main Cerberus presence on the ship."

"Get to the fucking point. Or better yet, go upstairs and screw your boyfriend." Jack replied, rolling her eyes at the speed this conversation was inching along.

"Well, we all heard you argue. And we all heard the threats. So…"

Jack realised what the mechanic was getting at. "So why haven't I ripped her head off and turned her body into biotic soup yet?"

Tali leaned away from the pillar at this, running her three fingered hands up her arms. "In a… manner of speaking, I suppose."

Jack snorted at Tali's discomfort. "None of your dammed business. You done here?"

Tali nodded quickly. "Yes. That should stop leaking onto your bed now."

"Good." Jack slipped down onto the bed, lying with her back to Tali

Tali picked up the spanner and, sensing the end of the conversation, left up the stairs. Jack heard the odd cadence of Tali's steps on the stairs, the difference in pace from a humans step. She smiled: not her usual harsh smirk, but a genuine, soft smile, before reaching under the bed and picking up a data pad.

An image sprung up on the screen. A man and a woman standing next to each other, on a bridge in London. Big Ben stood tall and proud in the backdrop. The man had his arm around the woman's shoulders, and her arms wrapped around his waist. Their hair and skin suggested late 50's, but the big grin on the man's face and the slightly embarrassed blush on the woman could have belonged to a pair of teenagers.

Jack cradled the image in her hands for another time, before switching back to the message. She had already read the words a thousand times. The timid pokes. The pitiful joke. The attempts at motherly concern. The knowledge.

The love of her parents.

_Clanging boots down the stairs_

_Jack looked up from her position, sitting on the edge of her bed. She snarled at her new visitor._

"_What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?"_

_Miranda looked levelly at her. There is little reaction to Jack's cursing or insults. In fact, Jack could almost swear that she was… smiling? A small smile, not a sarcastic grin or a tight grimace, but a small, almost welcoming upturn of the lips._

"_The fuck are you smiling about?" Jack swore, standing quickly and stepping towards her. "You got something to say?"_

_Miranda walked closer and Jack prepared to send a biotic shockwave at the Cerberus operative. Miranda held up her hands, conciliatorily. "Relax, Jack. I don't want to fight you."_

"_Then fucking say what you gotta say, and then screw off." Jack said, not moving._

"_Does every sentence you say have to involve swearing?" Miranda enquired, moving to sit on a box. _

"_Only when I'm pissed off." Jack growled, realising that Miranda wasn't planning on leaving soon. _

"_Fine. I understand. I just need to…"_

_There was a pause. Jack looked at Miranda's face, which seemed to be struggling for words. Her throat bobbed up and down a few times. Then, finally, she looked at Jack, and spoke._

"_I… need to thank you."_

"_What the hell?" Jack's eyebrows rose. That was not what she expected. "For what?"_

"_Inside the collector base. You saved my life, against those... things."Miranda shuddered, remembering._

_Jack remembered too. She hadn't seen Miranda, she had just seen a knot of insect-like bodies and, instinctively, she had pulled the whole pack away, into a burst of fire from Grunt. It was only then that she had seen the operative, lying bruised on the floor. Jacob had run towards the fallen woman then, and Jack had turned her attention to another squad of collectors that were trying desperately to hit Thane, who was dodging their feeble gunshots like a professional rugby forward dodges a fullback. But the biotic ex-con remembered Miranda's slightly stunned expression as a rival- an enemy, almost-, saved her from certain death._

_Jack snorted. "Forget about it. That all?"_

"_I can't. You could have left me. You could have let me die: you said you wanted to enough times. But you saved me. And so… I need to repay you."_

_Technically speaking, Jack hadn't realised she had saved Miranda. And Shepard had made her promise not to attack Miranda until after the collector base. But Jack decided that that could be forgotten. A prize was a prize, after all. Unless… "Shit, keep it. I don't need Cerberus money."_

_Miranda chuckled and shook her head. "I didn't think you would. And what kind of money do I put on my life?" She pulled out a data pad from… somewhere (Jack never could work out where the pockets were in her bodysuit) and handed it to Jack._

_Jack turned it on. The screen displayed a couple. Jack looked up, inquisitorially. "Cerberus holiday snaps? Thanks, but I have different tastes."_

_Miranda smiled. "It took some digging, but… I got their extranet address as well. You can message them."_

"_What? Why would I want to message these twats?"_

_Miranda laughed then; not the chuckle from before, but a full outburst. Jack wasn't angry any more, just very, very confused. Miranda stifled her laugh, and pointed to the picture. "Read the information. You might understand better." _

_The operative turns and walks for the stairs. Jack doesn't reply. A memory has been tweaked- not a vivid one, or a long one, but one which shatters her. A five second vision of a female face, sweaty, before she is ripped away. No emotions, no thoughts attached. Almost as if… it was before emotions. _

_Jack trembles as she goes for the information. Biotic flashbacks were a side effect of the experiments performed upon her. But they had never been that vivid. Or from that early on in her life._

_The text flashes before her eyes._

_She drops the pad._

_She doesn't realise it for a few seconds. She is too stuck in her head to realise. Her whole world, her awareness, has been eclipsed by a revelation, a need she hadn't even considered in years._

_She looks up to the stairs. Miranda has gone, leaving almost as many questions as she brought. But now…_

_Now the relationship has changed._

_Now, Jack has to thank her._

"_Shit."_

Jack puts the pad back down, and lies down on the metal slab. Once, Shepard had asked her why she slept in the hold. "This pit." He had called it with concern etched on his face. She hated that. The pity. The heroic need to save the "Damsel in distress".

Pussy.

She had told him that she preferred the quiet. The lack of through traffic. The inane chatter and gossip and scuttlebutt which spreads like wildfire through a ship. She was thankful for the lack of contact

She was even more thankful now. If any of those bastards had seen her crying, she'd have ripped their teeth out.

* * *

"Well, Thane…" Chakwas hesitated with the information she had received from the Hanar.

Thane smiled, well naturedly. _For an assassin, he's very peaceful_, Chakwas considered. She was seated at her desk in the medical centre, with the reptilian Drell sat on a bed in front of her. He slipped round and off the bed looking at her with those deep black eyes, as if they could absorb your essence. That thought made Chakwas shudder. It hit too close to home to be considered poetic. She fought to contain it though, and focused on Thane's voice.

"It is alright, doctor. I have made my peace. I simply wish to know how long I have."

Chakwas nodded, but still, she delayed. This was difficult news, after all. "Of course, it differs depending on where you go. But you knew that, of course."

Thane nodded.

"If you were to spend the rest of your days in Egypt… err, sorry, lets say…Canalus, then you could live longer than if you lived on Pragia. Though, of course that was before the commander blew up half of it…" Chakwas babbled, uncharacteristically.

Thane held up his hand. The doctor nodded, and turned back to the computer. She had been feeling rather stressed lately. Her time in the collector base had shaken her nerves, and she had taken to having a glass of brandy before bed. At this rate, Shepard would be running to the Serrice breweries every two weeks to pick her up new bottles.

"At the very least, in the worst environment... you've got six months. Maybe an extra month at the best. I'm so sorry..."

Thane nodded. "It was to be expected. My time with Shepard has been... exhilarating, but also bad for my health. In more ways than one." The Drell moved around the desk, standing formally in front of her, with his hands behind his back. "What of Kolyat?"

Chakwas was not surprised at how well Thane took it. He must have been hearing the countdown most of his life, after all. She instead returned to the data.

"I have far better news for Kolyat. Obviously, he will not live a full Drell life. The technology has not been perfected yet to keep him alive for 80 years."

"I see." Thane said, a hint of disappointment seeping through his emotionless exterior.

"However, I would put the estimate as around... 65. Perhaps more, if he keeps his lungs dry." Chakwas concluded. "All he needs is a five year check up on the Hanar home world."

It was rare to see Thane truly smile. Chakwas could now be included in an elite group of people. "That is good news indeed."

"Will you tell him?" Chakwas asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"I'll ask him if he wants to know." Thane replied. "It can be just as much a curse as a blessing knowing your mortality..." His head hung down, and his eyes flashed slightly wider. He spoke quickly, in a trance. "_The doctors expression is pitying. Weak. He nods his head. "Only a year" he says, throatily. I think of Kolyat. I think of things lost, and things never to gain..."_

Chakwas stood up, sympathetically, as Thane's reminiscence ended. Thane seemed slightly shaken, standing still in thought, his head hung low. Chakwas had heard of his 'solipsism', as he put it, but had never seen it firsthand. His reaction to it was extremely worrying too. He seemed lost, distraught. Almost... in pain. A hand shakily rose to rub his neck. Chakwas felt something click inside of her. She knew what he needed.

Chakwas moved in closer, something fuelling her beyond concern. Her hand went to his chin. Thane looked up, startled as Chakwas moved in closer. His arms shot out to hold her waist... hold her back.

"Doctor, I am sorry. I cannot. Not while I... can remember..."

Chakwas blinked. Then she chuckled breathily. "As attractive as you are, Mr Krios, I am actually just trying to get a clear look at your thyroid glands."

It was Thane's turn to blink this time. "Ah... excuse me?"

Chakwas shook her head, and pressed a hand to his throat. "Mild swelling in the upper reaches... tell me, have you been experiencing throat ache recently?"

Thane nodded slowly.

"Probably an infection. It's nothing serious," Chakwas nodded, moving towards her cabinet. She retrieved a bottle of spray, and turned back to Thane. "Here. It'll shorten your lifespan by about an hour, but it should protect your throat for a few years. Irrelevant, really, but I'm sure one hour lost will feel like a better deal than an inability to talk for a week."

Thane was still standing there, his arms at waist height, as if he was holding on to an invisible body. His mouth was slightly open, stunned.

Chakwas shook her head. "Mr Krios, I respect a policy of professionalism aboard a ship. Trust me. I will not leap you in the middle of the med bay. There are far too many windows."

Thane seemed to recover from his stupor, and he nodded. "Of course. My apologies for the assumption."

"Tish tosh." Chakwas waved a hand, returning to her desk. "Water under the bridge. We can't all have the sex drive of Ms Lawson now, can we?"

Thane chuckled. "You have noticed too?"

"Please, my office is opposite hers. I know every time she and Mr Taylor engage in... Co-operative assignments." Chakwas smiled craftily, before leaning on the desk. "Ahhh... the youth."

Thane nodded. "Indeed."

* * *

CR-CR-CRACK!

Zaeed grinned at the third target. Three little holes in the red head zone. Whatever Shepard had fitted to Jessie had done its job well. The old girl was slightly off weighted compared to before, but Zaeed had patience. And Jessie was worth it.

The old mercenary lowered the rifle and walked to the other end of the hanger. He pulled the three targets off the hooks and replaced them, before turning back to his original firing point.

He had been practicing for 20 minutes, and so far, he hadn't missed the targets once. Admittedly, his first shots had shifted a bit, and he had only taken the poor cutout's ear off, but he was now putting them through the head every time. Zaeed grinned wickedly as he laid the old rifle to the side and cracked open a can of soft drink. Alcohol would have been better, but with the Reapers arriving at any minute, he couldn't afford to have his senses clouded. And Shepard would have his head off if he turned up drunk to a firefight. If the Reapers didn't get it first.

The commander had caught him before he had reached the hanger to put Jessie through her paces. He'd had to spend a good 10 minutes moving liquorice out of that damn Krogan's room, all the while keeping a good eye on the young lizard. If that damn thing had made a move on him, he'd have had to rip the kid's arm out. He doubted he could have managed it, but he'd have had a bloody good try.

The door to the hanger opened, and Zaeed looked up. Garrus walked in, carrying his Mantis on his back and his Mattock in his hands. Shepard had tried to get his crew onto Incisor rifles, but so far, only Legion had switched. The Geth was the only one who could compensate for the three shot nature of the rifle. Zaeed wanted to get his hands on Legion's Widow instead, but Shepard had decided to put it to a target challenge. Now the damn Drell got the Widow, and Zaeed had to deal with the Mantis's relatively poor damage.

The Turian nodded to Zaeed. "Massani. Am I disturbing you?"

Zaeed shook his head. "Nah. Just putting Jessie through her paces."

The Turian looked at him oddly, and Zaeed sighed in mild exasperation. He held up his old rifle as the Turian moved closer. "Jessie. The best god dammed rifle in the galaxy."

"Zaeed, that thing's older than the council. Does it fire rounds or arrows?" Garrus taunted, a smirk running across his bony face.

Zaeed scowled. "You leave Jessie alone. She could take out all the collectors in the universe and still have enough in her to give Vido a new anal passage."

Garrus raised his eyebrows at this. "You willing to put money on that?"

Zaeed smiled. A good old-fashioned wager. He'd missed those working on his own for the last few years. "I'm in, Turian. What's the wager?"

The Turian pulled out two cans of liquid. One Zaeed recognised as a can of Budweiser. The other was some odd make. Garrus smiled. "One shot, closest to the target centre. Loser has to drink a mouthful of the non-compatible alcohol."

Zaeed looked with some trepidation at the Turian beer. It looked purple and really rather foul. "How do I know you're not giving me super strong stuff?"

Garrus snorted. "Please, Massani. If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it when we were being overrun with collectors on their base. This'll only give you a headache."

Zaeed decided that the bet was worth it. It didn't matter much, anyway. He wasn't going to lose. "Alright, Vakarian. I'm in. Looks like you planned this anyway. Or do you usually carry human beer around with you?"

Garrus placed his Mantis on the bench and shouldered his Mattock. "I was gonna try and build up a tolerance. But now, I'm just gonna enjoy watching you down some Caranas."

"In your dreams, Turian." Zaeed smirked. He had this in the bag already.

Garrus sneered back, before moving into a firing position. Zaeed followed suit.

"Fire when ready," Garrus murmured, before taking his shot.

Zaeed followed suit. The dual shots echoed through the hold like twin lightning strikes, deafening the mercenary slightly with its power. There was a moment of smoky confusion before Zaeed could see the targets, but when he could, he blinked sharply.

"Well I'll be…"

Garrus shook his head. "And the chances of that are?"

Both targets had identical holes buried in the dead centre of the head. It was a dead heat.

Garrus lowered his rifle, and placed it on the crate. "Looks like we both won, huh?"

"Nope."

Garrus turned to look at Zaeed in puzzlement. The mercenary held out the can of Budweiser to the Turian. The Amino-dextro beer was in his other hand. The human was grimacing.

"Looks like we both lost. Drink up."

* * *

Mordin was poking what appeared to be a 7 inch high tree when Samara entered the lab. Before Samara had the chance to speak, Mordin lifted a finger to his lips, shushing her without looking up from his prodding. Samara complied, waiting patiently as Mordin antagonised the fauna. After a few seconds, the plant made a wet, farting noise, and released a spray of pollen. Mordin quickly caught the excretions in a vacuum pack, and sealed the lid closed. He turned to the Asari Justicar, and nodded.

"Ah, Samara. Most apologetic. Needed to concentrate. Korlea Tranchanew is difficult to manipulate. Required full attention."

Samara nodded back. "It is alright, Doctor. I understand you wished to talk to me."

Mordin was pushing the sealed bag into a sealed jar as he spoke, not stopping for even a moment to look at Samara. The Doctor's hyperactivity was one of the traits which irritated Samara. However, she appreciated his forthright attitude to conversations. There was no duplicity in his words, unlike the Asari she had dealt with on Thessia.

"Yes. Wanted to ask you something. A favour. Not a difficult one, not one which will require you much time. Just a sample of your blood."

Samara blinked. Mordin turned at the absence of a reply, and began to jabber to himself. "Denial? Not likely, Samara has performed test before- Ah! Confusion! Misunderstand, could use old blood, but would prefer new blood for experiment. More accurate, less likely to be contaminated."

Samara nodded. Then she hesitated. "Doctor, if I may pry: what experiment?"

Mordin paused than, and he wrung his hands in mild agitation. "Unsure as to how you will take this. Difficult to explain. Still, request must be acknowledged. Want to examine genes of Justicar. In specific, gene of Ardat-Yakshi carrier."

Samara frowned and stepped forward. Mordin, to his credit, didn't back down, but Samara was fairly sure that his skin whitened slightly further than usual. "Explain."

Mordin held up both his hands. "Please, nothing inflammatory. No need for anger. Sample necessary if possible cure is to be found."

Samara's gut wrenched. She looked at Mordin with a blank expression. Finally, after several seconds of searching for a response, she forced one out. "How?"

Mordin drew himself up. "Process is quite complicated. Will require unprecedented amount of study…"

"No." Samara halted Mordin mid sentence. "You misunderstand me. How do you plan to deal with a genetic problem that has been around for millennia? That has been studied by Asari scientists for generations?"

"I don't."

Samara blinked. "Excuse me?"

Mordin smiled. "Oh, of course, will try. Have good laboratory. Great laboratory, in fact. Can use resources to develop study. But will likely not succeed. Not enough time, too short a lifespan. Data will continue to my nephew."

Samara drew back. "I see. In which case, why do you need my blood?"

Mordin began to pace the room, his hands fluttering like a pair of butterflies, "Information unknown. Had no idea about Asari genetic quirks. At least, not this one. STG had limited information on it also. Study could provide new line of inquiry new ideas. Asari themselves are," Mordin sniffed, like an aristocrat walking through Omega, "_limited _in their ability to analyse. Focus far too much on symptom, not problem."

Samara was losing her ability for words. A legacy of pain and fear, and this Salarian was casually discussing ending it with some years of study? And what's more, leaving this study to his nephew who, if Samara's memory of a previous discussion with Mordin served true, was entering university within the next week?

Mordin snapped her out of her thoughts. "Still puzzled? Information should be sufficient, perhaps anger? No no no no... possibly. Inquire. Are you angry?"

"No Mordin." Samara answered. "I'm just..." She moved to sit on a chair and rested her hands on her lap. "To see a light at the end of the tunnel for my children... It seems to be a miracle. And I do not trust miracles anymore."

"Ah." Mordin walked over to Samara and sat next to her. "Understandable. Woman in your position. Hard life, very hard. Tragic."

"I do not want pity." Samara's voice hardened for a second, and Mordin hastened to sooth her ruffled tentacles.

"Of course not. Did not mean it like that. Only meant that personal stake in this affects judgement. Also, have personal reasons for this: research project will make nephew well respected if successful: possibly more respected than me... hmmm..."

Samara ignored Mordin's chatter- not out of lack of interest or anger, but simply due to her own musings. A chance to give her children a life in the future? To experience love and happiness?

She began to roll the sleeve up of her jumpsuit. Mordin stopped and nodded. "Thank you. Injection may hurt. Should probably look away. Needle is... rather large.

"I am a Justicar. I think I will be able to handle it."

"Warned you. Just want that on record."

* * *

Legion walked past Justicar Samara on his way to the Armoury. The Asari was rubbing her arm with a look of intense agony on her face. Legion began logging a request for information as to Asari ligament pain, but deleted it when his primary objective came into view, exiting the armoury.

"Yeoman Kelly. We wish to talk to you."

The ships Yeoman looked taken aback. "Legion? I was just looking for Jacob. Have you seen him?"

Legion reviewed his memory core. "Last observation of Operative Taylor was 1 hour, 2 minutes and 12 seconds ago, entering Operative Lawson's office."

Kelly's skin turned red, and Legion logged a new secondary objective: to perform an extranet scan for human biological reactions after his primary objective was complete. "I see. It looks like I'm free for a bit then. What can I do for you?"

"We have identified that, among the crew, you act as a source of information regarding strategies to deal with non- combative situations." Legion stated, his robotic voice a monotonous ring.

Kelly blinked. "Huh?"

Legion constructed a simpler sentence. "You act as the ship councillor."

"Oh!" Kelly nodded. "Well... yes, I do, but to be honest, most of Shepard's squad talk to the commander, not me. I mostly deal with the Cerberus employees..."

Legion continued his inquiry. "We wished to acquire some data off of you."

Kelly frowned slightly. "I'm afraid information on my sessions is strictly confidential."

Legion's processors whirred. "To clarify: we wished for some of your advice on a matter of human culture."

Kelly relaxed and motioned Legion to walk alongside her towards the briefing room. Legion followed along beside her.

Upon entering the Briefing room, the yeoman turned back to Legion. "So, what do you want to know?"

"We have recorded Creator Tali'Zorah accessing the commander's room a total of 16 times since returning from the Collector base."

Kelly folded her arms over each other. "I'm not sure what you want from me Legion. Like I said, what the commander tells me is confidential."

If Legion could produce a smirk, Kelly swore the Geth platform would be wearing one. "We have reached a consensus. Out of 1,183 programs aboard this station, 1,180 conclude that they are in a sexual relationship."

Kelly wasn't sure how to answer that. Hesitantly, she asked, "And the other 3?"

"She is accessing Shepard's private Email to send view Quarian-centric pornography." Legion replied. "We deem this unlikely."

"I see." Kelly said, running her hands up and down her arms. "Well, if you know all of this, what do you need me for?"

"Sexual intercourse is a means to produce children. There is only a 9.78% chance that Quarian/ Human intercourse could produce a foetus, and only a 55.2% chance that the foetus will survive pregnancy and childbirth." Legion recited. "With such low odds, we wondered why Shepard-Commander would engage in a relationship with such a non-compatible species as opposed to one of the human females aboard the ship."

Kelly was running out of ways to look surprised. She tried to think of an accurate response to give to a machine which didn't understand emotions.

She wasn't doing very well.

"That's… complicated." She decided on. "Human emotions… tend not to focus on the practical. When we feel… close to another being, we wish to share pleasure with them. And for biological species, intercourse is often… pleasurable."

"But Shepard- Commander could experience pleasure in many ways. We believe Extranet video's are pleasurable, as is consumption of food and alcohol. Why an activity which could risk Creator Tali'Zorah's health?"

Kelly wished that a course had been invented for this. Explaining sexual pleasure to a synthetic life form was not covered by standard Cerberus counselling training. "It's a different form of pleasure, Legion. And it's a very private thing. It requires a level of trust. It creates a sort of… bond between the partners. A connection."

Legion's motors whirred. Kelly could almost here the processors forming another inquiry.

If she was hoping for simplistic, she was hoping wrong.

"Will Shepard-Commander be seeking intercourse with all the crew members?"

Kelly's mouth hung open. "I'm sorry?"

"Shepard- Commander would benefit from an increased connection to all his crewmates. It could increase reaction time and performance…"

"No, no." Kelly waved her hands, "Not a computer or data connection."

Legion was silent for a second. "Will need additional information."

Kelly sighed. "It's a sort of… spiritual connection. An emotion. Humans call it 'love`. It doesn't have any direct physical benefits as such. It's more of a… feeling."

Legion remained silent. Kelly moved towards him. "Do you… need anything else, Legion?"

"We are building a consensus. We may enquire further later."

Kelly nodded, relieved that, at least for now, the interrogation was over. "I need to get back to my duties."

"Acknowledged." Legion exited through the briefing room door. "We will find you later for more discussion."

The door closed, and Kelly rubbed her forehead. What had she got herself into?

* * *

There is a great deal going on behind the scenes on the Normandy. There is the squad interaction, for a start. Despite the enlargement, the Normandy SR2 was still small enough to ensure contact at some point in the day, and, sentience being sentience, tempers would flare, romance would blossom and laughter would erupt from the bulkheads.

Then, there were the ordinary workers. The hive that keep the ship running, process the information, write the ending number of reports and statements and cheques.

And, on occasion, clean bizarre foodstuff off the floor.

Gardiner sighed as her ran his mop once again over his newest nemesis- a bluish stain left by an overexcited Krogan's bellowing laughter, and appropriate swinging arm actions. For a baby Krogan, Grunt sure made the right amount of mess. Not that Gardiner would ever say so to the warrior's face.

Gardiner grunted as he feverishly worked the mop over the stain. "Come… on… you… little… bastard…"

"Everything alright, crewman?"

Gardiner's head whipped up at the sound of his XO's voice. "Yes Ma'am. Just having a little trouble with this stain."

Miranda nodded. "Carry on, Gardiner." She turned to walk off, and Gardiner could not help but stare at her retreating form, the soft globes of her ass swaying like heavens own private peep show. Gardiner once again thanked the maker of form fitting bodysuits, and cursed the creator of perilous situations which forced attractive female XO's to fall in love with dark skinned, heroic operatives. (Not to mention damming the instigators of baldness in middle aged men.)

Unfortunately for Gardiner, his staring at Miranda had caught him to lose track of his mop, which had decided the wet floor was perfect for sliding along. The mop slipped, Gardiner lost his support, and a messy collapse on the floor resulted.

Gardiner muttered a curse.

Another voice tutted.

Gardiner looked up to see Garrus shaking his head. The Turian looked slightly woozy, and Gardiner could swear his skin behind the exo skull was a lighter brown than usual.

"Some kind of human cleaning technique I don't know about, Mess Sergeant?" He asked, cheekily

Gardiner winced as he pulled himself up. "Har de ha ha."

Garrus grinned, then flinched and raised a hand to his head in pain. "That was not my smartest idea."

"What wasn't, Sir?" Gardiner enquired, curious as to what could give the Turian soldier, one of the toughest of Shepard's crew, a headache.

Garrus shook his head. "Just a little bet. See you later, Gardiner."

Gardiner waved his mop at the Turian. "Back to work."

Garrus retreated to his work station, wincing at every step as his apparent headache troubled him. Gardiner scratched his head in bewilderment. Surely those guns couldn't need any more calibration? The damn Turian had been working on those guns since Gardiner had seen him come out the med-bay with a bandage round his jaw.

Gardiner shook his head and began whistling as he returned to his work of galaxy saving importance. After all, how would the public react if they knew the commander flew around in a ship covered in filthy food stains?

Shepard's VI sales could fall. And nobody wanted that.

Except maybe the commander.

* * *

"So. Kenneth. Care to explain?"

Kenneth opened his eyes. "Gabby- WHA?"

Gabby stood in front of the opened engineer dorm door. Holding a battered photograph. And dressed in her knee length, black satin nightgown.

Ken panicked. He looked round before grabbing her hand and dragging her into his room. "Gabby, are you nuts?"

"I should be asking you that question" Gabby didn't seem best pleased with Kenneth's actions.

"Me! I'm not the one going around flashing me thighs to every Tom, Dick and Harry that stops to take a butchers!" Kenneth spluttered.

Gabby looked down, seemingly unaware until this point what she had been wearing.

"Well, thank you for protecting my dignity." Gabby said, calming down now that she realised the hapless male engineer had a reason for his actions. "But that still doesn't excuse this!"

And she brandished the photograph like a damming piece of evidence in a crime investigation. Which it probably was, Kenneth reflected.

"Excuse what, Gabby?"

Gabby handed the photo to Kenneth. Kenneth glanced down at the photo. And nearly fainted at the double take.

The picture was a little grainy, showing it had been taken by a hidden camera. It's contents were quite clear, however.

Gabby had just stepped out of the shower. And she hadn't put a towel round herself yet. The steam rising around her in the picture made her look like some sort of goddess. She obviously had no idea the photographer, or even the camera, was there.

Gabby raised her eyebrow at the flabbergasted engineer. "Well?"

Kenneth was struggling for words. His eyes were wide and bulging, and his hands were madly fluttering about in agitation. "You don't...I mean… you think this was me? Gabby?"

"Well?" The female engineer's eyes were on fire, like judgement day itself could be passed through those windows to a flaming hellscape.

Kenneth wasn't as poetic as that.

He just thought they were bloody terrifying.

"Lass, I'm partial to the ladies, but this? This isn't... I wouldn't..." Kenneth sat down at his bunk, placing the photo down on the side desk and covering his face with his hands in shock. "I mean… how in the lord's name do you think I could have got in there? What do I look like, Blasto?"

Gabby's face softened, and she knelt down in front of him. "Well, looks like this is still a mystery then. Help me solve it?"

Kenneth revealed himself, to be greeted with a perfect line of sight down Gabby's gown. He had a brief moment of ogling pleasure, before realising his situation. He quickly recovered his eyes again. "Aye, but only after you've hidden the buns!"

Gabby looked puzzled. Kenneth decided not to continue, and stood up. "Come on lass. Let's go find your little observer. But first…" Kenneth turned to the side desk, and picked up the photograph. He tossed it in the bin besides his desk. "That's that dealt with."

Gabby raised an eyebrow. "Not going to keep it?"

Kenneth chortled. "Ah, lassie, if I want to get my jollies, I'm not gonna use ill gotten gains for it."

Gabby shook her head as she walked out, followed by her (still chuckling) engineering partner. "That was too much information…"

The room went silent. Then, a shimmering in the corner revealed a carefully camouflaged intruder. The trespasser stood up, moved over to the bin, and pulled out the photograph.

"I should really be more careful with blackmail material…"

* * *

Shepard sighed out as he stood up from his desk. He stretched his arms out and allowed the muscles to pull taut, feeling the movement of flesh as he tried to collect his mind from the depths of mission reports. He knew why he still had to check the things (he got the feeling that Miranda would provide a presentation if he forgot, complete with slideshows and a catchy theme tune,) but he hated the tedium.

The door behind him opened and Shepard smiled as he turned around. Tali strode into the room. The commander wondered as to how the Quarian managed her timing to be so perfect, before pulling her into an embrace. "Hey. Am I glad to see you!"

Shepard couldn't see, but Tali was smiling under her mask. She loved the feeling of encirclement, of protection, Shepard's arms produced- even through her suit. Her fever was starting to die down now- though this was more to do with the amount of times she had now been out of her suit, rather than the amount of time since her last escapade. Tali blushed as she remembered the previous morning, when she had encountered Shepard exiting the shower, and he had, instead of getting changed, dragged her after him…

There was a nuzzling by her feet.

Tali was fairly slow to react. She slowly drew herself out of Shepard's embrace, and looked down.

Shepard was puzzled. Then, he felt an object brush up against his leg. His face cleared up, and he chuckled in realisation.

Tali did not chuckle.

She was too busy wondering how Shepard managed to get a VARREN up to his quarters.

"Shepard. I do not know about human culture, but I fail to see the joke here."

Shepard's laugh died into a nervous chuckle; as he knelt down to rub the Varren's back, he fell silent.

The Varren purred.

Tali put a hand to her mask and shook her head. "Keelah, Shepard. Only you could recruit a Varren to the squad."

Shepard laughed at that. "You don't remember Urz? He seems to remember you!"

Tali shook her head, her hands on her hips now. She knelt down next to Shepard and held a hand out. "The lighting here is very different to Tuchanka. He looks bigger too. Obviously you've been feeding him."

"He doesn't get as much exercise here." Shepard nodded, as Urz inched his head towards the Quarian's hand. Tali began to scratch under the Varren's chin, and Urz released another rumble. Shepard's arm came up and wrapped around Tali's waist.

Tali released a giggle. "Using your new pet to pick up women for you, Shepard?"

Shepard leaned into Tali, his hand running up her leg. "Is it working?"

Tali smirked through her visor, glad Shepard couldn't see the flush that had worked onto her skin. "Actually, I've decided I prefer Urz to you. Less demanding. I might take him down to engineering with me."

"Uh huh." Shepard breathed, leaning in with his other hand and running it across her covered breasts. "What can I do to change your mind?"

Tali gasped out at the feelings that, though dimmed through the suit, still ignited a flame within her. "Ohhhh… Keelah. Whatever you want, just do it now."

Shepard loved how worked up he could get his mechanic. He turned to Urz and motioned for him to go outside. Urz growled, but complied. Shepard shook his head. The Varren wouldn't be put out for long. He'd left a lump of space cow meat on the floor outside. He'd have to clear out the stink later.

He turned back to Tali and once again he was lost in the beauty of her uncovered eyes as she removed her face plate. Drawing her to him, he kissed her deeply, savouring every moment of delicate rapture found in those lips

He never did get finished checking that report.

* * *

Finish on fluff. Just how punters like it

Hope you enjoyed the fic! Please clear away the popcorn after you.


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